Catholic Means Universal
by JackieStarSister
Summary: Lance never appreciated the religion he was raised in, until he ended up lightyears away from the place where it was practiced. Now he only has his memories, and whatever mustard seeds of faith his family planted, to sustain him. A canon-compliant short story cycle. Contains humor, angst, hurt/comfort, family, and friendship. Rated T for mentions of sensitive, controversial topics.
1. Catholic Means Universal - Introduction

**Introduction**

Since Lance is Cuban, and 60% of Cubans are nominally Catholic, my headcanon is that Lance was raised in that faith. This series will be a sort of ongoing character study building on that premise.

All the stories in this cycle will be canon-compliant. If any developments in future seasons contradict what I what written, I will revise my work to fit the canon.

I'm labeling this "Spiritual," but for a second genre I couldn't decide between "Humor" and "Hurt/Comfort." It will be humorous at times, because Lance is a humorous character, but he also has his moments of angst and sadness. So for now I'm labeling it just "Spiritual" because that will be the most consistent theme.

I would really like feedback on this work, for two reasons. First, I want to make sure Lance is in character, and that I'm not just projecting my own views on him. Second, although I know a lot about Catholicism, I do not know much about Cuban culture. If any of you readers are Cuban or have firsthand knowledge or experience of Cuba's culture (especially its religious traditions), I'd love to talk with you!

If you have any questions about the things I write about, please voice them in a review or message. I love talking about these topics!

* * *

 **Table of Contents**

"Onward, Christian Soldiers." Lance prepares to make his Confirmation before he starts attending the Galaxy Garrison.

"Freelance Catholic." Lance celebrates Mardi Gras and tells Hunk about Lent.

"Jesus Take the Wheel." Lance's thoughts as he leaves the Garrison, finds the Blue Lion, and joins Voltron.

"Holy Laughter." After learning about Pidge's connection to the Holts, Lance tries to offer some consolation.

"What's In A Name." The paladins discuss the origin of names, prompting a story from Shiro and arguments between the paladins.

"On the Willows." Lance starts to feel homesick for his family and all the rituals he took for granted.

"Crown of Roses." Allura catches the mice doing Lance's dirty work, but it turns out to be for a different reason than anyone expected.

"Man of Sorrows." After Shiro disappears, Lance tries to pray for him, and finds "trusting God" to be harder than it sounds.

"Keeping the Covenant." Lance tries to live up to his promises in the midst of changes in the team's structure.

"Live Free or Die." After the adventure in the alternate reality, Lance vents to Hunk and Pidge about his family's conflicting views on life and free will.

"Thanksgiving." Lance gives thanks after his prayers are answered, and reflects on his role within Team Voltron.

"Reason and Revelation." Lance asks Veronica about how science fits in with faith. **Will be moved to fit chronology.**


	2. Onward, Christian Soldiers

_Published August 22, 2017_

"Onward, Christian Soldiers"

* * *

If we are Christians, then we are soldiers. When we forget we are soldiers, we stop fighting. ~ Kimberly Miller

* * *

Lance wanted to get his Confirmation over and done with before he went to the Galaxy Garrison, because it would not be practical for him to take the weekly classes while training to be an astroexplorer. Even if they could find a parish close to the Garrison that would welcome him, it would be a hassle to have to do that on top of the intense studying and military training. Lance, as well as his family and teachers, knew from experience that he would function best under the lightest load possible.

His parents and the parish's director of religious education arranged for him to go through the program earlier and at a faster pace. Lance was the youngest kid in the class, but he made the greatest effort, because unlike during his previous years of CCD, he could not afford to be held back this time.

"Remember, Confirmation isn't just 'graduation' from Sunday School," the teacher reminded them emphatically. "It's the beginning of your spiritual adulthood. You'll be soldiers and ambassadors for Christ and the Church." When she caught sight of Lance's smirk, she scolded him, thinking he was scoffing. In fact, he was thinking of how soon he would be in the real military; and if there was any chance of aliens being real (though he was not pinning his hopes on that), he and other astroexplorers would be Earth's ambassadors.

When it came time to choose a saint's name, Lance tried to find one that would fit his interests or vocation. When the dictionary was passed around, he looked for patrons of science and aviation. There was Dominic, patron of astronomers, and Joseph of Cupertino, patron of air travelers and astronauts. Lance considered Saint Sebastian, patron of his favorite sport, archery, until he read the biography and found out the guy had been killed by being shot with arrows. He would feel more confident taking the name of someone who was _good_ at the thing of which they were a patron, not a _victim_ of it.

He waited until everyone else had left, then asked the teacher for recommendations related to a subject that he did not like to mention in front of other kids. It did not matter if he mentioned it to the teacher, since she was already aware of his condition. "Is there a patron saint of ADHD?"

"Not that I know of. There might be one of students, or learning disabilities."

Lance hated that word, at least when it was applied to him. That distinction made it sound like part of his body was missing or one of his senses didn't work, which was not the case at all. Nothing was missing from his physical makeup or wrong with his mental makeup. His brain just functioned in a way that happened to be slightly different from that of the average person. It did not hold him back, it was just part of who he was.

He didn't want to call attention to his different-ness and insist that it merited special treatment. Not that he was opposed to receiving special treatment for other reasons, like talents and accomplishments. He just didn't want people treating him like someone they were morally obligated to accommodate. He especially didn't want the Garrison rejecting him for some harebrained reason stemming from his ADHD. He could just imagine the skepticism of the teachers and students. "If you can't focus, how do you expect to become a pilot?"

They wouldn't understand the way Lance's mind worked, hopping between different trains of thought, zooming in and out to take stock of each situation. Most of the time, Lance's thoughts were all over the place, but when he was doing something he really enjoyed, he could hyper-focus and fix his attention on it. That was why he excelled at any kind of shooting—bow and arrow, rifle, darts, water gun. His favorite carnival game was always water gun races; he found it easy to keep the water steady on the target.

While his mind went down this train of thought, his teacher flipped through the dictionary of saints. "Did you know that there's a meteor shower named after a saint?"

"No. Really?"

"The Perseids are sometimes called the Tears of Saint Lawrence."

"Lawrence." That sounded like a longer version of Lance. "Why is it named after him? Was he an astronomer?"

"No, but the meteor shower usually appears around his feast day, August tenth."

"Huh. What's his story?"

She skimmed the biography and summarized it for him. "He was a deacon in Rome when the emperor was persecuting the Church. The pope was killed, and the emperor told Lawrence to hand over the church's wealth. He asked for three days to collect it. In that time, he gave all the Church's property to the poor so it wouldn't be confiscated. When he was ordered to present the treasures, he presented all the poor, the handicapped, widows, and consecrated virgins. He said they were the real treasures of the Church."

That seemed to be the punch line, but it left Lance feeling lost. "I don't get it."

"Well, they had benefited from the Church's work, and they dedicated themselves to God. You've heard of being 'the light of the world,' haven't you? Lawrence was probably thinking along those lines." She looked Lance in the eyes. "That's what this ceremony is all about. Do you understand?"

"Yeah. I think so."

"If you don't want him, I'd recommend Joseph of Cupertino. He was said to levitate, so he's the patron of aviators and astronauts; but he's also patronized for learning disabilities. He wasn't allowed to join the religious order he wanted to because he didn't have the right education for it."

Lance had to agree that it was a good fit. He had always struggled with school, and had just barely managed to get accepted to the Galaxy Garrison.

His entire extended family came to his Confirmation. After the ceremony, they held a fiesta to celebrate both his Confirmation and his acceptance to the Galaxy Garrison. When people congratulated him, he did not know if they were referring to what was ending, or what was beginning.

Many people gave him religious gifts with the thought that he would bring them with him to the Garrison. By the end of the day, he was equipped with a rosary, a Bible, a Catechism, and an assortment of medals and prayer cards. "There is no way I can bring all this," Lance insisted, gesturing to the pile of paraphernalia.

"You need some basic staples," his mother shot back.

"The Bible and Catechism can be read online." That was not to say he would actually read them, but it was reason enough to not bother bringing printed copies.

"Well, at least bring a rosary, and some kind of devotional. And make sure you go to Mass each week."

"Yeah, I know." He had heard and done that all his life. He did not know how things would turn out, what with homework and studying and training, but he placated his mom with promises to do his best.

That summer, as a late birthday present, his siblings took him on a camping trip to watch the Perseids. Lance bragged that from now on he would be able to do his stargazing with the best equipment available. They all tried not to talk about how they would not get to do fun things like this with him as often as they used to. When he finished training, he hoped to be assigned to missions in outer space, which could last months or years. There was no way to know for certain when he would be able to see his family.

* * *

Author's Notes

This chapter is named after a 19th-century hymn, with words by Sabine Baring-Gould and music by Arthur Sullivan.

Lance having ADHD is a headcanon that circulated through Tumblr. As someone who has ADD and whose brother had ADHD, I think it quite plausible.

I learned the story of Saint Lawrence from surface-level Internet research, primarily Wikipedia. If I've reported any inaccurate information, feel free to correct me.


	3. Freelance Catholic

_Published April 16, 2017. Happy Easter!_

"Freelance Catholic"

* * *

Believers and unbelievers are not two clearly separate groups like two soccer teams. The playing field for the contest between belief and unbelief is within each individual human heart and human mind. ~ Father Tomás Halík

* * *

One day, in late winter, Hunk found Lance in the Garrison lounge unpacking a cardboard box that seemed to be filled with junk food and party favors. Lance grinned at him and said, "Check it out! My family sent me a care package." Lance tossed a candy bar wrapped in string of gold beads to Hunk. "Happy Mardi Gras!"

"Oh! Wow, thanks." Hunk eagerly detached the beads and unwrapped the candy bar. "D'you have family from New Orleans?"

"No."

As he munched on the chocolate, Hunk tried to remember what Lance had said about his family and where he was from. "They celebrate Mardi Gras in Cuba?"

Lance paused in his inventory to look at him. "People celebrate it around the world."

"Really? I thought it was a big party in New Orleans. Like a heritage festival."

"Well, yeah, they love to celebrate it there; but it's actually a religious holiday—or, well, it exists because of a religious holiday."

Hunk finished licking his fingers and held up a hand. "Wait, let me guess—it's like Saint Patricks's Day? Where people pretend to be a certain heritage so they can celebrate it?"

"No. Good guess, though. It's the last day before Lent, so it's the last chance to have sweets or do whatever you plan to give up."

Hunk blinked, his expression turning bewildered. "Wait, I'm sorry, can you say that again?"

"Lent is a season in the church calendar. Not all Christian denominations celebrate it, but Catholics do. It leads up to Easter—you know what that is, right?"

"Sure. I've done egg hunts and stuff like that with neighbors."

"Okay, so, during Lent, we're supposed to fast for forty days, like Jesus did in the desert. I don't mean go completely without food," Lance added quickly, seeing Hunk's horrified reaction. "You're supposed to make some kind of personal sacrifice. There are only two days when you're supposed to not eat a lot, one at the beginning—that's tomorrow, Ash Wednesday—and another near the end, Good Friday. Also no meat on those days or on Fridays."

"Why?"

"I don't know … because it's a luxury I guess. People used to give up all meat and dairy products for the whole season. Now people make up their own sacrifices. Usually they give up things like junk food or bad habits. Or, instead of giving up something, you can _do_ something extra, like pray more often or do good deeds. It's like New Year's resolutions."

Hunk scratched his head in amazement. "How do you maintain that kind of self-discipline?"

Lance looked both smug and sly. "Well, there's a loophole. Not everybody knows about it. The forty days don't count the Sundays. That's the day we go to Mass, which is supposed to be a kind of feast, since it's basically a celebration of the Resurrection, like a mini-Easter. So on Sunday it's okay to break the fast."

"Oohhhh. So you just hold out during the week and then fill up on Sundays?"

"Pretty much."

"That makes a lot more sense," Hunk said, understanding now. "Well, now that I know about this, I'll help you find delicious, healthy, vegetarian dishes, and your weekly fill of junk food."

Lance's countenance lit up, as pleased as when he had seen the package's contents. "Really? Thanks man!" For that, he let Hunk have his pick from the box.


	4. Jesus Take the Wheel

_Published April 20, 2017  
Updated August 14, 2018_

"Jesus Take the Wheel"

* * *

God looks for dodos. A dodo doesn't know it can't be done. God uses dodos, and I'm a dodo. ~ Mother Angelica

* * *

Whenever someone in Lance's family started learning how to operate a new type of vehicle—a bicycle, a car, a boat, or spacecraft—they prayed to Saint Christopher, the patron saint of safe travels, to intercede for the new driver's safety. Lance's grandmother gave Saint Christopher medals as reminders to pray to him, though the youngest misunderstood them to be good-luck charms that had to be carried in order to protect them.

Lance's medal was one of the few things he brought with him to the Garrison that gave any indication of his faith background. His mother had made sure he brought the staples of a healthy Catholic spiritual life: a Bible, a Catechism, a book of devotions, a rosary. He did not use them, except on some occasions when he tried to impress churchgoing girls. Of course he did not need any of them for a night on the town, as he intended to have with Hunk and Pidge, so he left all those items in his dorm. When their plans changed due to the life-changing, history-defining UFO landing, there was no time to go back and grab anything. Lance and Hunk followed Pidge, who, for reasons they still could not discern, was bent on investigating the crashed alien spacecraft.

He almost wished he had the medal, or at least a better relationship with Saint Chris, as he tried not to fall off Keith's hoverbike.

Lance had never had a problem with the idea of alien life existing somewhere in outer space. It didn't seem likely, but it was possible. Even so, seeing the evidence—the confiscated spacecraft, the long-lost astronaut, the eerie mechanical hand—and learning that aliens were already somehow connected to Earth forced Lance to reassess the limitations of what he was willing to believe.

When the five runaways set out to find the "Voltron" that Pidge and Shiro had heard about, the last thing any of them expected was supernatural-seeming events, like the earth opening under their feet, or miraculous-seeming experiences, like visions.

Lance was the only one who dared to reach out and touch the "writing on the wall." He felt certain that phrase came from the Bible but could not remember which story it was from.

The gargantuan blue-colored mechanical lion both drew in and unnerved Lance, almost like a statue that seemed a little too realistic. There might have been one or two times when he saw a piece of art in a church so striking that its subject, be it Jesus or one of the saints, seemed to be looking right at him. But somehow he knew that his eyes were not playing tricks on him when the Lion's eyes seemed to follow him.

As they approached the forcefield, a verse popped into his head: "Knock, and the door shall be opened to you." So when Keith seemed to have no idea how to get past the shield, Lance came up and suggested, "Maybe you just have to knock." With that he tapped experimentally on the blue-tinted transparent barrier. He had not entirely expected it to work, and neither he nor the other cadets were prepared for what happened when it did.

Lance had heard stories about prophets, apostles, and saints having visions, but his faith in them had never been particularly strong. The Catholic Church had processes for verifying miracles, when there was tangible evidence that could be examined by impartial scientific experts; but visions and apparitions perceived by only one or a few people could not be proven, so there was more room for doubt around them.

The vision of Voltron came to all five of them at the same time, which was reassuring, because that meant they were not going crazy. Something bigger than their own minds, and definitely beyond the reach of science, was at work around them, and possibly within them.

When he first perceived the Blue Lion communicating with him, Lance wondered if this was like what people experienced when they claimed they "heard" God "speaking" to them. Speech was the closest thing to which it could be compared, but the communication was not entirely verbal: ideas and images entered his head, as though they were being transferred from a data chip. He could tell his passengers were skeptical of what he was claiming, just like most people were when someone said God or a saint or an angel was talking to them.

As Lance braced himself to go through the giant portal, he offered up a silent prayer that Saint Christopher would put in a good word for them, so they wouldn't regret this decision.

The alien castle the Blue Lion brought them reminded Lance of several fairy tale tropes. The castle's emptiness and the way it seemed to come alive in their presence made him think of "Beauty and the Beast." But the two sleeping inhabitants they discovered were more akin to the characters in "Sleeping Beauty," and the female turned out to be a princess to boot!

When Allura confirmed that the Blue Lion was for him alone, Lance wished he had some holy water to anoint the Blue Lion, the way his parents did whenever they purchased a new vehicle. He could just imagine how anxious they would be about him operating a machine like that; but then again, the Blue Lion was the only vehicle he had ever piloted that could think and steer along with him, so he figured that made up for the danger.

Over the next several Earth-hours, Lance found himself praying, informally but fervently, at moments when he felt most panicked and afraid.

 _God, let Hunk be all right. Saints and angels, pray Hunk will be all right!_ He had never felt this kind of anxiety, a combination of shock, horror, and uncertainty, not knowing whether his friend was alive or dead; and knowing that if it was the latter, it was his fault; and in the meantime he had to evade the Galra attacking him. When the Blue Lion went down and was cornered, his only thought was, _HELP!_ The relief he felt, both for Hunk and for himself, when the Yellow Lion shielded him was unspeakably sweet, even if it was over too quickly. He gave thanks mentally, feeling obligated to do so after the thing he had been praying for had happened; but in situations like that, he never knew for certain whether it was a matter of the prayer being answered, or his prayer coinciding with what God had already intended to happen.

 _God, let them take the bait_. _Saints and angels, please pray they'll take the bait._ Lance was sure lying was okay in a situation like this, where they were trying to stop evil forces and ensure people's safety and survival. He was sure people had done that in some Bible stories. But their ruse did not work, at least not long enough.

 _God, help us_. That was all he could articulate when it looked as though all five pairs of lions and pilots were going to be captured. He did not know what to hope for at that point. They had failed to form Voltron, and he had no idea what would happen to the five of them, or the Alteans, or Arus, or Earth, or the universe. He did not know what good was possible, so he made a simple, catch-all petition: _Help_.

Maybe the Holy Spirit moved in Shiro, or something; he certainly sounded like someone "on fire with the spirit" or whatever the saying was. Something about his words and tone struck each of them the right way, instilled them with the faith and determination they needed.

What happened after that pep talk seemed nothing short of a miracle. Of course, each of the lions seemed miraculous—it was hard to tell whether they operated on scientific principles or through magical forces—but the way they connected was … impossible to describe. Physically, to defy the laws of nature. Mentally, the five pilots somehow connected and coordinated, working in sync, like different parts of a single body.

After the battle, Lance wondered if this was how the Hebrew and Jewish tribes of the Old Testament felt after winning what seemed like an impossible victory. He felt lucky. His grouchy grandparents had always corrected people they heard use that word: "You're not lucky, you're blessed." Maybe they were right. From the moment he found the Blue Lion to the moment they formed Voltron, they all felt increasingly empowered. Even though Allura and Coran said the war was just beginning, and implied that the goal they had originally proposed would take some time to achieve, it no longer seemed as daunting.

He had grown up knowing that he was part of something bigger than himself or the people he knew. The word "catholic" meant universal, worldwide, all-inclusive. Belonging to the Catholic Church meant belonging to a worldwide organization. Yet this had always been an abstract concept to Lance. He had never experienced that sense of belonging and connection as acutely as when he and the Blue Lion became a part of Voltron.

Since he had received so many answers to prayer that day, he gave a final prayer of thanks for all their successes and victories. It was actually the most heartfelt thanksgiving he had ever offered. But as he slipped into the bed in the room that he now called his own, his last thought was a smug one: _Guess now I have a legit excuse for not going to church_.

* * *

Disclaimer: This chapter's title is the name of a song by Carrie Underwood.

The phrase "writing on the wall" comes from Daniel 5. The verse Lance remembers can be found in Matthew 7:7-8 and Luke 11:9.


	5. Holy Laughter

_Published April 24, 2017_

"Holy Laughter"

* * *

"He will yet fill your mouth with laughter and your lips with shouts of joy." ~ Job 8:21, New International Version

* * *

Lance and Hunk came to understand Pidge's family situation gradually, from things Shiro and Pidge said in reference to them. When he deduced that Sam and Matt Holt were Pidge's father and brother, Lance felt an uncharacteristic clash of emotions: he felt smug finding out that he had been right about Pidge having some stake in the Kerberos mission's crew, but also sad for the Holt family when he remembered Sam and Matt Holt were probably still imprisoned somewhere in the Galra Empire.

The fact that they were missing gave Lance an idea, which he shared when he found Pidge alone in the lounge, playing with the mice.

"Hey, Pidge, have you ever heard of Saint Anthony?"

"Um … I don't think so. Should I have?"

"Nah, he's not super famous. The reason I mention him is, he's the patron saint of lost things. We have this tradition of praying to him when you can't find something."

Pidge looked at him queerly. "That's a Christian tradition?"

"Yeah—I mean, not all Christians do it, but certain denominations do."

"It sounds kind of polytheistic. Isn't that breaking a commandment or something?"

Lance smiled and shook his head. "No, see, Saint Anthony doesn't actually help you find what you're looking for. What you do is ask him to pray for you, so that God will help you find it. It's called intercession—you ask a saint to intercede for you, since they're so tight with God."

"Oh." Pidge thought this over, then asked, "Why are you telling me about this?"

"Well, I was thinking about your family. Since they're missing, you could ask Saint Anthony for his intercession." Seeing Pidge's skeptical look, Lance added, "Or I could, if you don't want to."

"Yeah … if you think it'll help, go for it." Pidge paused, about to leave, but hung back and said, "Thanks for thinking of them. And for telling me. That's surprisingly nice of you."

Lance frowned at her. "'Surprisingly'? I happen to be a very nice person!"

Pidge snorted, smirking slightly. "Yeah, when you're not showing off … or stealing my headphones … or farting in closed spaces … or being mean to Keith for no reason …"

"I have reasons!" Lance exclaimed indignantly.

"Name one," Pidge challenged.

Lance summed it up as succinctly as he could before returning to the point at hand. "At the Garrison, he was always trying to knock me out of the competition. Now, let me ask you something: who saved your big mouth when you when you accused Iverson of lying? Who found the first lion? And who stopped that Galra ship from invading Earth?"

Pidge deflated somewhat. "Okay, I admit you're not a complete jerk."

"Thank you," Lance said with satisfaction.

Seeing that it was already going to his head, Pidge added, "But you're not the most altruistic guy."

"And you've officially ruined the moment."

"My original point," Pidge said doggedly, "was that when you _are_ nice, it stands out, because you don't always act that way. So I appreciate it more. I meant it as a compliment."

"If that's a compliment, I'm scared to see your insults."

Pidge seemed slightly confused by that quip. "Why? You think they'll be really mean, or ineffective?"

Lance paused. "You know, to be honest, I don't know."

They looked at each other, and both started to laugh, giggling and chuckling at first, then releasing full-volume cackles. It was not so much that the situation was funny enough to merit that amount of laughter, but that in the midst of so much stress and uncertainty, it felt good to have something to laugh about, and someone to laugh with.

* * *

Author's Notes

I have a whole series about Pidge's family and their spiritual growth, called "The Pursuit of Truth." One chapter in it, "I'll Try," is about Pidge and Lance further discussing the Communion of Saints. The two cycles could be seen as overlapping; I chose to put this in Lance's and the other in Pidge's to keep the points of view consistent in each cycle.


	6. What's In A Name

_Published November 1, 2017, in honor of All Saints Day._

Author's Note: I wrote most of this a long while ago, but waited to post it after it was revealed how Pidge's nickname originated and whether the others know about it. It could take place at almost any point in the series, but considering Lance's development this short story cycle, I think it would make most sense placed between "Holy Laughter" and "On the Willows," so that is where I will move it.

* * *

"What's In A Name"

Love everyone and trust His providence, and you will find peace. I have tried it and can assure you it is so. ~ Takashi Nagai

The topic of names came up during a meal, when the paladins and Alteans were sharing funny stories about their families. Pidge described an experiment she and her brother had attempted that went horribly wrong, and Shiro mentioned her father, Commander Holt.

Hunk frowned thoughtfully. "Hey, Pidge, is your last name Holt, or Gunderson? I just realized your last name is different from your dad and brother's."

"It's Holt," Pidge answered. "Gunderson was just an alias I made up to get into the Galaxy Garrison."

"Is your first name really Pidge?" Lance asked.

Pidge squirmed. "No. It was Matt's nickname for me. Since I needed an alias, I thought I should use a name I was already used to hearing people call me."

"So what's your given name?" Lance inquired.

Shiro started to intervene, "She doesn't have to say it if she doesn't want to," but Pidge cut him off:

"Katherine. Katie for short."

"Aw, that's so cute," Lance cooed.

Pidge glared at him distastefully. "I was named after Katherine Goble Johnson. She was a black mathematician who worked for NASA back when the U.S. was segregated."

"Really? Wow."

"'Katherine' sounds elegant," Allura complimented.

"The hard consonant sound indicates strength," Coran put in. Pidge looked mildly surprised, then smiled, pleased with this idea.

Allura looked around at everyone seated at the table. "Does anyone else here go by a—what did you call it?"

"A nickname," Hunk supplied.

"Yes, that."

Keith, Lance, and Hunk shook their heads, but Shiro spoke up. "Shiro is actually my nickname. It's short for my family name, Shirogane. My given name is Takashi."

"Takashi," Allura repeated, testing the sound in her own mouth. "I like it."

Hearing Shiro's first name brought a memory to Lance's mind. "Weren't you named after a saint, or something?"

Shiro was surprised. "Yeah, actually. How did you know?"

"My Sunday School teacher knew I was a fan—I mean, that I wanted to go to the Garrison, and that I looked up to you." Lance's cheeks reddened slightly as he tried to gloss over his past idolization. "She found out your name was the name of a saint, and she sent me this article about the guy."

"What is a saint?" Coran asked.

The Earthlings all looked to Lance, the token Catholic, who felt rather put on the spot. He decided to forego the Church's technical definition and tried to come up with a simpler description. "It's … a person who's really holy, or spiritual, or virtuous. Someone who did something really selfless or important because of their faith."

"Oh. What did the other Takashi do?" Allura asked.

Shiro answered. "Takashi Nagai was a doctor and a soldier. While he was studying medicine, he stayed with a family who invited him to go to—a ceremony at their church, a place where they worshiped their god. The next day, the daughter of the family he boarded with, Midori, got appendicitis."

"What is that?"

"It's a fairly common disease on Earth," Pidge answered. "Basically, an organ called the appendix almost bursts, so it has to be removed surgically. It's not too uncommon, and the surgery has a high success rate, but if it isn't done in time, the person can die."

Shiro nodded. "So Takashi Nagai diagnosed Midori, called the hospital, and carried her there on his back through the snow. He saved her life. When he was serving in the military, she sent him a copy of the Catechism—that's a book listing religious beliefs. That book helped him decide to join the Church. He and Midori later got married. He was working at a hospital in Nagasaki when the U.S. dropped the atomic bomb there."

Allura and Coran did not know what this meant, but they saw the other paladins' expressions conveyed surprise and a solemn kind of appreciation, which was enough to tell them that the event to which Shiro referred must have been a well-known, dark day in Earth's history.

"Takashi is a common enough name," Shiro informed them. "But when I first heard about Takashi Nagai, I felt kind of glad to know I shared his name. He sounded like a good role model."

"Yeah, he actually kind of sounds like you," Hunk observed. Then he looked to Lance. "I got a question for you, Lance, something I've wondered. Were you named after a weapon?"

"I wish," Lance chuckled. "I was named after the wrong Armstrong. My dad thought he was naming me after the first guy who went to the moon, but he named me after a guy who got famous for riding his bike and making a bracelet brand."

"And cheating in his races," Pidge pointed out.

Keith stifled a sound that might have been a laugh. "That sounds fitting."

Lance leaned over to look indignantly at him. "What? I've never cheated in my life!"

"It could've been worse," Hunk offered. "You could've been Louis, after the musician."

Pidge spoke up. "Did it occur to anyone else that Sendak has the same name as that children's author?"

"Oh, yeah! Maurice! _Where the Wild Things Are_!"

Lance cast a flirtatious glance at Allura, saying, "Your name sounds like an English word."

"Really? What word?"

"Yeah, _allure_. It means really interesting or attractive."

Allura stared at him, her brows and the corners of her mouth turning downward. "You made that up."

Pidge pushed the bridge of her glasses up. "Actually, it's true. The word can be used as a noun, meaning 'the quality of being powerfully and mysteriously fascinating,' or a verb, meaning 'attract, charm, or tempt'."

Keith had been silent throughout most of the conversation, but now he thought of something. "Coran has the same name as a book."

"Do I?"

"Yeah, it's this sacred text … there's a whole religion founded on it."

Lance looked to the Alteans and asked, "Do the lions have names?"

"No," Allura answered, but then she frowned thoughtfully. "At least not that I know of. I suppose the paladins may have named them, but in company they were always called by their colors."

"Maybe we should give them names."

"Why?" Keith asked. "Colors work just fine. It doesn't have to be complicated."

"If I had to name mine," Pidge mused, "I'd name her after a scientist."

"Her?" Hunk repeated. "Since when do the lions have gendered pronouns?"

"Well, they're all built like female lions. None of them have manes."

"Well, can you really expect them to? All that faux fur would get in the way in a fight."

"How about Jerome?" The others looked quizzically at Lance, who explained, "It's the name of a saint who had a pet lion."

Pidge was confused. "You don't mean Daniel?"

"No, that's a completely different story from thousands of years earlier."

Hunk shared an idea. "Would it be weird to name a lion Leo?"

Lance replied "No" at the same moment Pidge asserted, "Yes."

"What's the significance of that name?" Allura inquired.

Shiro explained, "There's an ancient Earth legend about a lion named Leo. And there's a constellation in our solar system named Leo because it's shaped like a lion."

Hunk nodded. "Doesn't that make it doubly fitting? It has to do with lions _and_ outer space."

Pidge frowned thoughtfully. "But the constellation Leo represented the Nemean Lion, killed by Heracles as one of his Twelve Labors. You'd be naming your lion after a loser."

"Oh."

Lance thought about his lion's affinity with water and ice. Maybe a name that had to do with that would suit it. What did water have to do with outer space, planets, stars …?

 _Star of the Sea_. Lance was surprised to find the memory of that name so clear. It was one of the Virgin Mary's titles. In Latin, _Maristella_. In Spanish, _Estrella de Mar_. He remembered a picture, too, a stained-glass window with a lighthouse leading a boat into a safe harbor. The church itself had been designed to look like an ship's interior, to help parishioners place themselves in the analogy of being led to Christ through Mary.

It was too much to explain to the others, though, without drawing attention to himself and making them think he was actually interested in that kind of thing, so he kept the idea to himself.


	7. On the Willows

_Published April 27, 2017.  
Updated September 2018 to incorporate new information._

"On the Willows"

* * *

Wandering between two worlds, one dead,  
The other powerless to be born,  
With nowhere yet to rest my head,  
Like these, on earth I wait forlorn.  
Their faith, my tears, the world deride—  
I come to shed them at their side.

~ Matthew Arnold, "Stanzas from the Grande Chartreuse"

* * *

A few days passed before homesickness settled in. Or maybe it had been trickling in for a while, and Lance had simply not noticed it until he saw how much had gathered inside him. After that, it left and returned like a tide, only with less regularity, so that it could not be predicted.

In general, the paladins tried not to think about Earth too much. Of course it was inevitable that they mentioned different things form Earth's culture, the same way Allura and Coran mentioned things from Altea's culture; but they rarely spent time dwelling on memories, or even hopes for some point when they might return to Earth. Doing so distracted them from their immediate and ongoing missions

But while Lance was asleep, old, familiar places and people and events appeared in his dreams. He saw his family, his home, the beach, the church his family attended, his old schools, even favorite vacation spots. These were bittersweet reminders of everyone and everything he was distancing himself from by being part of Voltron. Of course, he had been apart from them while staying at the Garrison, but he had still been in regular contact and looked forward to every break with the certainty of seeing them. Now he had no idea how long it would be, or if he would ever be able to see them again.

What if he missed his relatives' biggest milestones—birthdays, quinceañeras, Confirmations, graduations. What if Marco, Rachel, or Veronica got married? What if Luis and Lisa had another baby? In the time it took to defeat Zarkon, Lance could miss out on the chance to be a best man, a sponsor, a pallbearer, or even a godfather. So far Luis and Lisa had chosen their kids' godparents from among Lance's older siblings, who were mature enough to be their spiritual mentors and would be able to take care of them should anything happen to Luis and Lisa. Sylvio and Nadia loved their youngest uncle, but they were so young, it didn't seem impossible that they might forget about Lance.

What if he was away for so long that his grandparents died, or some terrible accident or disease caused a younger relative to die unexpectedly? Lance realized, with something akin to horror, that even if he returned to Earth, he might never see some of his loved ones again, and the youngest ones might have no memory of him.

The worst thought was the remembrance that his family did not know where he was. If the Galaxy Garrison was handling the disappearance of their students the same way they handled the disappearance of the Kerberos mission crew, the world might think the students were dead. They must be worried sick. Lance could just imagine his grandparents calling a prayer meeting, asking for special Masses, or setting up some kind of ongoing vigil, to pray for his safe return. For the first time, he felt guilty for causing them so much anxiety.

One night, he had a dream about attending his family's annual reunion, and helping his cousins look for rosaries to distribute. Praying the rosary was one of the only things Lance's entire family did together. At parties and other gatherings, they usually broke off into groups, the adults talking, the kids playing, the teenagers gossiping or roughhousing. Various duos and trios went off to do things apart from the general assembly. Yet everyone, young and old, came into the same room to pass around the necklaces, count the beads, and recite the prayers. Depending on who led the call-and-response, they might recite in Latin, Spanish, or English. The devotion usually took less than half an hour, but for the kids it was annoying to have to stop playing or eating and recite memorized words that carried no personal meaning.

Even when awake, Lance could just hear his elder relatives' voices as they announced each Mystery, reading a brief description of what had transpired and why that event was significant. It was like Mass, in that the words were familiar enough that they washed over him without impression, yet had never been truly grasped and consciously remembered. He remembered mixing up the Apostles' Creed in the rosary with the Nicene Creed in the Mass; both recitations put his mind on autopilot, so that he sometimes skipped lines of the Nicene or added lines to the Apostles'. Becoming conscious of this mistake was not embarrassing so much as annoying. When he had complainingly asked why they didn't use just one or the other, an older cousin who was studying history launched into an explanation about different church councils and official decisions that Lance could not have been bothered to remember.

As he thought about the ritual, Lance was startled to realize he could not remember all of the Mysteries. He tried to list them: five Joyful, five Sorrowful, five Glorious … and there was that other set that got added later on, whose name Lance could not remember.

He started to worry about what else he might forget, or might have already forgotten without realizing it. How many other parts of his life had he assumed he would always remember? The Mass would probably have to be the biggest. He had neglected that sacrament while attending the Garrison, often using homework or extra training as an excuse. Yet, every time he went home for a vacation, he had found himself surprisingly pleased to be back in his home church, to see the stained glass and architecture, to hear the music and liturgy he knew so well. There was something reassuring about being able to come back and find it all unchanged. The feeling of joy only lasted for the first or, at most, second time he came back to it; then it went back to being just a weekly commitment, something done because it was an obligation and a family outing.

Lance had taken the Mass for granted, and passed on the opportunity to celebrate it when it was available to him; but now that he was away from all of Earth's churches and priests, and did not know if or when he would celebrate it again … he actually missed it.

What if he died out here in space? He had already had quite a few brushes with death, so it was not too far-fetched a possibility. Wasn't there a sacrament for people who were dying—last rites or something? Final Confession and Communion? Anointing of the Sick? Could he go to Heaven when he had gone so long without confessing his sins? Lance didn't think he could be in danger of Hell—he had been baptized as a baby, and eaten the Eucharist, and even accepted Jesus as his Lord and Savior in case Protestants were right about personal conversion being necessary for salvation—but if he died in a state of sin, the intensity of Purgatory might be greater.

It had been a while since Lance had felt so insecure. Most of the time he acted cool and confident. It was only in private that he ever stressed about his shortcomings—the struggles with attention deficit disorder, the doubts about his abilities as a pilot, the fear that no one would marry him and he would end up alone forever.

In an attempt to ease his conscience, Lance knelt in front of his bed, rested his clasped hands on the mattress, and prayed. He recited the Lord's Prayer and the Hail Mary, and the Act of Contrition, and tried to mean them even though the words were fancier and more old-fashioned than any he would have used. Then he spoke from his heart, in colloquial language. He apologized and asked for forgiveness, professing trust in God's mercy. Then he named every relative he had left behind and asked God to bless every area of each one's life. He prayed for help remembering everyone and everything he had left behind, and begged to be allowed to return home.

* * *

Music: This chapter is named after a song from _Godspell_ by Stephen Schwartz. The lyrics come from Psalm 137, which fits Team Voltron's situation pretty well, since the Alteans lost their home and the paladins are far from theirs, leaving both groups uncertain about how to practice their home's traditions.


	8. Crown of Roses

_Published May 13, 2017, the centennial of Our Lady of Fatima's first appearance.  
Updated June 27, 2018._

"Crown of Roses"

* * *

A Catholic without prayer? It is the same as a soldier without arms. ~ St. Josemaría Escriva

* * *

Allura no longer wore much jewelry on a daily basis. In fact, with the exception of a few heirlooms that she wanted to keep, she thought she might eventually barter some for supplies—the castle-ship's stores, well-stocked as they were, would not support the inhabitants indefinitely.

She let the four Altean mice play in her jewelry box and make nests out of her old accessories. She became used to finding various items in disarray on her dresser or spilled on the floor.

Then she began to notice that certain items seemed to be missing, ones that she had cleaned up just a day or two before. Since she had other things to worry about, she let this slip, until she found the mice pulling a broken necklace toward a vent.

She knelt down before them and spoke gently but firmly. "I don't mind if you play with my jewelry, but please keep it in my room, alright? I might need it someday."

Chuchule stared at her as though dismayed. Plachu glowered, either annoyed or embarrassed. Plat and Chulatt exchanged glances, as if they were worried. "What's wrong?" Allura asked, not understanding. She thought she was being quite reasonable.

Plat responded, squeaking in that frequency Allura had been able to hear ever since awaking from the sleep pod: _They're not for us._

Allura frowned. "What do you mean?"

 _Someone asked for them._

"Someone asked you? Who?" Allura truly had no idea who it could be. Who in the castle would want her jewelry, and would go so low as to take it covertly?

 _Lance._

"Lance? But why?"

 _He didn't say._

Suspicious, and more than a little intrigued, Allura took the mice and necklace into her hands and stood. "I'm going to get to the bottom of this."

She went to the lounge, where Coran and the paladins were relaxing. "Lance? May I have a word with you?"

Lance straightened up attentively. "Sure. I thought you'd never ask!"

It was the flirty tone that made Allura decide to stay and ask in front of the others rather than in private. She put the question as bluntly as she could: "Why did you send the mice to steal my jewelry?"

"What?" Lance's first reaction was surprise, but that quickly turned to anger accompanied by embarrassment. He glared at the mice atop Allura's shoulders. "You _ratted_ me out!" he spat. When they squealed with indignity, he added, "Pun fully intended!"

"You should know better than to trust the mice," Allura commented. "They can't keep a secret."

"Oh, really? That would've been good to know."

" _I'd_ like to know why you've been doing it," Allura said adamantly.

Lance looked down. "I'm making something," he muttered.

"Is it for yourself or someone else?" Coran asked curiously.

"Well—for me, but—"

"I didn't take you for the jewelry type," Keith remarked, eyebrows raised in what might have been amusement.

Lance glowered at him, furious at the mere possibility of being laughed at, but Pidge intervened before he could defend himself. "You don't have to be embarrassed. Guys can wear jewelry if they want," she said with a shrug.

"It's not an accessory!" Lance cried indignantly. "It's a weapon!"

Keith and Pidge looked at him as though they sincerely doubted his sanity. Shiro and Hunk were simply bemused, while Allura and Coran were curious.

"It's true!" Lance insisted. "Spiritual warriors on Earth have used them for centuries!"

Something clicked in Hunk's mind, and he started to laugh as he understood. "Oh, I remember. You had a rosary in your room at the Garrison. Is that what that is?"

"Yeah."

"Ooohhhhh." Varying degrees of understanding dawned on Pidge, Keith, and Shiro, but the Alteans were still clueless.

"If it's jewelry _and_ a weapon," Allura ventured, "is it meant to be worn, like armor?"

"Well—you _can_ wear it, but it doesn't always work that way." Lance hoped he was not blaspheming by saying that. He knew it would be superstitious to say the opposite, that anyone who wore it was guaranteed success and safety. It was too complicated to even think about, let alone explain to someone else.

"What exactly is a rosary?" Keith asked.

"'Rosary' means a crown of roses—that's a type of flower on Earth," Lance added for the Alteans' benefit. "It's shaped like a necklace, but when you use it you're supposed to hold it in your hands. Each bead stands for a prayer. Each prayer is supposed to be like a rose offered to—the saints." Lance knew he was skipping an opportunity to evangelize, but really, even if Alteans had a concept of deities, how could he begin to explain the concept of God having a mother? The Communion of Saints was one thing, the Incarnation was quite another. He tried to grasp onto something concrete that they would understand. "Back home, my family prayed it together. I wanted to try it again."

"So, you sent out thieves to make this thing so you could pray?" Keith asked for clarification.

"It wasn't supposed to be stealing!" Lance insisted. "I told them to just take broken bits, things Allura wouldn't miss."

Pidge scratched her head. "If it's used to count prayers, couldn't you just use your fingers or something?"

"Yeah, but I like having something to hold in my hands. It keeps me centered."

"Well, you didn't need to make it covertly." Allura set the mice down on the couch and held the broken necklace out to Lance. "I'd be glad to contribute to your project."

Lance blinked at her. "Really? Thank you."

"I bet I can find something to make a cross out of," Hunk suggested. "I could try baking something like clay, or meld something out of scrap metal."

"That'd be great! I figured, if I couldn't make a whole one, I could make one with just a decade—that's ten beads, plus the little chain hanging off."

Allura brought her broken and unwanted jewelry to the lounge and let Lance pick out pieces. Hunk took some metallic odds and ends to Pidge's laboratory in the Green Lion's hangar. When he came back, they were melded together roughly in the shape of a cross. Lance thanked them and took these new supplies to his room, and did not come out for the rest of the evening.

A few days later, as they were sharing a meal, Allura asked Lance, "How did your crown of roses turn out?"

"Oh—well." Lance reached into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out the strange item. The beads were mismatched and varied in colors and shapes, though Lance had tried to make every eleventh bead distinct from the ten on either side of it. "It looks kind of silly," he acknowledged, "but it has the right parts, so it's … adequate." He passed it to Allura, and let her pass it down the table to the other paladins. He felt nervous watching them handle it, like tourists examining a curio. He was glad when it came back to him.

"Did it help like you thought it would?" Pidge asked.

Lance was not sure what she meant, or how to answer truthfully. "… Yeah. I guess. I don't know if it makes me feel close to God or the saints … but it does make me feel closer to my family. Like I'm still praying with them. Even if I'm not doing it right, I know they are, so it's like they vouch for me." Lance felt his cheeks get hot as he fumbled for the words. "I can't explain it right."

"No, that makes sense," Shiro said kindly.

"Yeah, I think I can understand that," Keith agreed.

It did not take long for Lance to fall away from praying with his rosary. Most days, he felt he simply did not have enough time. He figured he had an acceptable excuse, because the activities that kept him busy were for the greater good. But he kept the rosary in his pocket, and felt reassured knowing that he could always come back to it.


	9. Man of Sorrows

_Published May 25, 2017_

"Man of Sorrows"

* * *

We tend to use prayer as a last resort, but God wants it to be our first line of defense. We pray when there's nothing else we can do, but God wants us to pray before we do anything at all.

Most of us would prefer, however, to spend our time doing something that will get immediate results. We don't want to wait for God to resolve matters in His good time because His idea of 'good time' is seldom in sync with ours.

~ Oswald Chambers

* * *

Everyone coped with Shiro's disappearance in a different way.

Keith, Pidge, Coran, and Allura had all experienced loss before. In a way, losing Shiro—even with the possibility that he might still be alive somewhere—only increased and exacerbated their past pain. But they also knew how to compartmentalize their emotions and even channel their grief through their work.

For Hunk and Lance, losing a close friend or family member was a new experience. They did not know how to deal with it. They missed Shiro himself, and they mourned how Shiro's absence shifted the entire team's dynamic. They did not feel like a family anymore, and they did not know how to comfort each other, except with unoriginal, unconvincing platitudes.

Keith took his introversion to a new level, except to confer about their next move against Zarkon.

Pidge buried herself in research and experiments, using whatever technology and data she could get her hands on to search for Shiro.

Hunk distracted himself by cooking, making sure everyone continued to eat well, though his own eating habits became erratic. Sometimes he stress-ate, and at some meals, he had no appetite at all, something that had not happened in all the time Lance knew him.

Lance made some jokes out of habit, half trying to cheer himself, half trying to encourage the team. But even he felt weighed down with sadness and anxiety. Worse, he had no special skill set or area of expertise that could help in the search for Shiro.

The only thing he could think of, that he could do to help, was pray. But just a mental _"God, let Shiro be all right"_ seemed too fleeting. It was fine for moments of chaos when there was no time for formality, but he had time now, when they were between battles and missions.

He had the rosary made out of Allura's old jewelry. He had only used it a few times since making it. Most days, he simply carried it around like a talisman, a badge that could be used to identify him as a member of one of Earth's largest religious communities. He worried it between his fingers the same way he fiddled with the zipper on his jacket at idle moments.

If there was ever a time to pray—with sincerity, not just desperate instinct or wishful thinking—now was the time.

Once he made up his mind, Lance wondered where to go, which direction to face, what to look at or envision. On Earth, Catholic Christians kept statues, and Eastern Orthodox Christians used icons, to help them picture the saints or Jesus, the visible Image of the unseen God. Picturing the Father and Holy Spirit was harder; in art they were sometimes depicted as an old man and a dove, but those were only symbols. Some people tried to imagine infinity or Heaven or omniscience, but studying and traveling through outer space had diminished the power of this trick for Lance. He could go to one of the observation decks to get a view of space, but he wanted to be alone and pray out loud, to help him focus. So he settled for the privacy of his bedroom, after everyone had turned in for the night.

Lance knelt on the floor and took out his rosary. He was halfway through the Sign of the Cross when he realized he was barely thinking about the words he was saying, or the Person—well, three People—he was addressing, since the words and gesture were so routine. In fact, he had never thought much about it before. It actually sounded kind of like a battle cry—maybe that was why people sometimes made the gesture before doing something dangerous. That was a cool thought.

Lance took a breath and started over, focusing on each Name, trying to visualize, or at least conceptualize, each member of the Trinity. Then he folded his hands and tried to form a coherent prayer.

"God … sorry it's been a while. You know how busy we've been … what a crazy time we're having. Um … thanks for everything that's worked out for us. There were a lot of times when I thought we'd fail or die, but we always came out alive … I figure a lot of that must've been Your doing. Like the timing of Coran getting that virus, when we actually needed a lubricant … no one can take credit for that, besides You. So, thanks … for everything." It seemed inadequate, but then again, no amount of thanks or praise could measure up to the (probably infinite) amount God deserved, so a little was probably no better or worse than a lot.

"We have lost some allies, though … Ulaz, Thace, Antok … even King Alfor's AI. Plus Allura and Coran are still getting over the fact that all their friends and family and countrymen are dead … and now Shiro's gone, and that's really the worst, because without him … we just don't know what to do. I mean, Allura takes charge most of the time, but Shiro was the one who, you know, directed us, delegated jobs … Keith's trying to fill his shoes, but even he knows that it's not the same." Lance twisted two beads of the rosary between his thumbs and index fingers.

"The thing is, even though we've got this powerful robot and castle-ship, in the grand scheme of things … there's so much we can't control. Heck, even Voltron is a speck of dust compared to everything You juggle. _You_ are the real defender of the universe." That was a humbling realization.

"I know You've got a plan, and I believe things will work out in the end, in terms of the fate of the universe … I mean, every bad period in history ends eventually … but the specifics are … it's just … people still die, and we've learned that some worlds _do_ end, which kind of turns the whole idea of You protecting our world on its head." Lance felt somewhat spiteful as he said this, but plenty of prophets and apostles had been spiteful toward God, and He still listened to them.

He took a breath and tried to regain his composure and return to his main point. "Anyway … I don't know what Your plan for Shiro is, but if You could … I mean, I know You _can_ , but if You _will_ … just … let him be okay. And if he's okay, if You could bring him back to us … if not to lead us, just to let us know he's okay … that would make everything a lot more bearable, which would be good considering how hard our job is."

Lance bowed his head, trying to summon feelings of contrition, the way he did whenever he was forced to go to Confession, yet willing them to be genuine, not forced. "I know I don't really deserve to be heard … I've never paid You much attention, besides when someone made me, or when I thought I was going to die. I know you're not supposed to be a last resort, and it's lame of me to come crawling to you only when I want or need something. But if You hear me out about this one thing, I'll do better. I'll follow the Commandments. I'll stop making fun of Keith. I'll drop the playboy act. I'll do good deeds without seeking glory. I'll pray every day, and if we make it back to Earth, I'll go to Confession and Mass when I'm supposed to—and I won't just go through the motions of all the rituals. I'll be sincere about it. And I'll study the Bible and Catechism so I'll actually know what I'm doing." Lance wondered if this was a kind of covenant, like the agreements God made with so many generations of His people in ancient times. Lance would not know if the offer had been accepted until he learned Shiro's fate. Even then, he would not know if God had accepted or rejected the bargain, or had gone ahead with the plan He had had all along.

Unable to think of anything else original, Lance decided to begin the meditation. He looked at the flower-shaped beads and tried to imagine that they were real flowers, that he was offering a wreath to the Virgin Mary. He remembered some church ceremonies that involved placing crowns of flowers on their statues of Mary, like dressing up a doll. Oddly, Lance didn't think any of those crowns had been made of roses, as the rosary was supposed to represent. He supposed the thorns would have made such a crown dangerous to assemble …

Lance's mouth almost dropped open with surprise and realization. A crown of roses. A crown of thorns. Like Jesus wore.

If the prayers were like roses, did they hurt Mary? Or did the rose symbolize pain she already felt? Either way, it seemed to suggest that she was not detached from people's suffering. She had felt it keenly on Earth, and probably felt it, or at least identified with it, as she watched over the Church now. Wasn't that how it worked for Jesus? Wasn't that the point of His Incarnation?

Lance felt like he had hit on something, a discovery that had actually been in plain sight, whose significance was great but which he did not understand. Then he realized his mind had wandered again. He knew that if God was omniscient He would hear these prayers no matter what, but Lance wanted to actually mean it; he was pretty sure effort counted. He would have to focus.

Having prayed from his heart, in his own words, Lance now began to recite the words that generations of Catholics had prayed for centuries. He alternated between English, Spanish, and Latin, unsure which language made him feel closer or more connected to his audience.

He tried to pray each decade with a specific intention in mind. At the end of each Hail Mary, after "pray for us sinners," he substituted the words "now and at the hour of our death" with his own petitions. He started out thinking he would dedicate the entire rosary to Shiro, but it seemed a little single-minded to pray only for him, when there were so many other people that also needed God's help and the saints' advocacy. So Lance prayed one decade for Shiro, that he would be safe and eventually found; one for the Holts, that they would be reunited; one for Team Voltron, that they would defeat Zarkon; one for all the planets the Galra had conquered, that they would be liberated; and for the people on Earth, who were still in the dark about the intergalactic war happening throughout the universe.

In closing, Lance named every saint and angel he could think of, to ask for their intercession on behalf of all the people he had prayed for. He appealed especially to Michael, the Archangel, defender in battle; Anthony, patron of lost things; Dominic, patron of astronomers; and Joseph of Cupertino, patron of aviators and astronauts. He even dared to petition his ancestors, the Alteans, and famous Catholic scientists, people he couldn't be certain were in Heaven, and therefore might not be capable of hearing or answering prayers.

He struggled to remember the words of the closing prayers. "To you we cry, poor banished children of Eve; to you we send up our sighs, mourning, and weeping in this valley of tears. Turn, then, most gracious advocate, your eyes of mercy on us, and after our exile, show us the blessed fruit of your womb, Jesus." Those words— _banished_ , _mourning_ , _exile_ —held new weight when Lance considered where he was and everything he and his friends had lost.

The last prayer was somewhat self-conscious, referring to the rosary itself and the act of meditating upon its mysteries, that the person who did so "may imitate what they contain, and obtain what they promise." Lance had never stopped to think about what that meant. The Mysteries were milestones in the lives of Mary and Jesus. It would make sense to try to imitate their actions. But what did they promise? Each one was different, and he would need a Bible—and probably some kind of commentary—to understand each episode's implications.

Lance sighed. He was over-thinking it again. He wasn't good at this, there was no denying it. But he was making an effort, and that probably mattered more than anything else in this communication. At some point, he had to simply entrust the situation to God. With that thought, Lance concluded the meditation with the Sign of the Cross.

As he stood and stretched, Lance reflected that this was the first time he had ever prayed out of genuine, desperate need. It was the most emotionally exhausting faith-related experience in his life thus far.

It was probably also the first time he ever had to really _trust_ God for anything. That was harder than he had always imagined it to be. It was easy to believe when you saw how strongly other people believed. Here, he was the only one who believed all that the Catholic Church taught.

He remembered one of his Sunday School teachers explaining what it meant to belong to the Catholic Church. "'Catholic' means 'universal.' That means the Church is spread through the whole world, but still united as one Body of Christ." Lance now wondered if "the world" meant just Earth, or the whole universe. Once the people of Earth learned about alien life, theologians and religious leaders would probably have to change a lot of terminology and teaching techniques.

Fingering the rosary under his pillow, he tried to convince himself, and take comfort in the belief, that he was not alone. He was still connected by prayer to his family on Earth, to all practicing Catholics, to all the saints who had lived on Earth and were now praying for him in Heaven. God was there, even when Lance neglected Him.

He added a postscript to his prayers: "Thanks for listening."

* * *

Author's Note: This chapter is named after a hymn written by a personal friend of mine, JMD Myers, a dedicated Christian and talented singer, composer, actress, and writer. You can listen to her music on YouTube, including an instrumental version of "Man of Sorrows," though its lyrics make it much more poignant.


	10. Keeping the Covenant

_Published August 10, 2017 as part of "Thanksgiving."  
Posted as its own chapter on October 2, 2017._

"Keeping the Covenant"

* * *

Do everything without grumbling or arguing, so that you may become blameless and pure, "children of God without fault in a warped and crooked generation." Then you will shine among them like stars in the sky as you hold firmly to the word of life. And then I will be able to boast on the day of Christ that I did not run or labor in vain. ~ Philippians 2:14-16

* * *

After making the "covenant," as he thought of it, Lance wondered if it had been arrogant of him to make such promises. Was he putting himself on a level with the prophets? Abraham had gotten away with negotiating with God, but he had been a man of righteousness, willing to do whatever God told him.

What if Lance didn't keep his end? His spirit was willing but his flesh could turn out to be weak. The Bible was all about how God's people failed to keep their covenant, and how God punished them, but then sent prophets to tell them how to change, and stayed faithful to them despite how much they wronged Him.

Lance knew himself well enough to know he would not be able to change his character or habits overnight. Sin and conversion and holiness did not work that way, as he knew from both education and experience. His Protestant acquaintances on Earth talked about salvation like it was a one-time event, but his Catholic mentors described it as a process, a continual renewal. That was why they had the sacrament of Confession, so they could examine their consciences regularly and figure out how to improve.

It might be a good show of faith to start keeping his part of the bargain now, instead of waiting for God to fulfill the request. It would show his ability and willingness to change, and might make the transition easier when the prayer was finally answered.

He tried to pray every day, after he woke up and before he went to sleep. He echoed his petition for Shiro, affirming his promises, and asked for help in keeping them. Freeing planets in the aftermath of Zarkon's apparent defeat left him too busy to say the rosary every day, but he tried to do it at least once a week, on Sunday, when he knew his family and others on Earth were attending Mass or worshiping God whatever way they knew how.

He tried to show Keith more respect and sympathy. It was clear that Shiro's absence was harder on him than on anyone else. So Lance tried to talk to him as he would to any friend that was going through a hard time. Not that he stopped all the teasing and criticizing at once, but he eased off, and offered words of encouragement when appropriate.

Accepting Keith as the leader was hard, but it kind of tied in with his promise to serve the team and defend the universe without seeking glory for himself. In Lance's eyes, Keith did not seem like the right person to lead, but the Black Lion chose him, so it must have seen something in him that made him qualified. Maybe it was like how God chose prophets and saints who seemed like the least qualified people for the tasks He gave them. How did that saying go? "God doesn't call the qualified, He qualifies the called." If whatever powered the lions and connected them to the paladins had anything holy or God-willed about it, then Keith must be the one God wanted to lead the team.

The other person he had to change his attitude toward was Allura. The first step to watering down his playboy act would have to be the way he interacted with her, because Lance flirted with her more than any other girls, since she was the one she saw the most regularly. (Well, there was also Pidge, but Lance never flirted with her because there were too many reasons not to.)

It helped that they had serious situations and somewhat heavy conversations, during which flirting was not opportune. And when things were not so urgent, Lance tried talking to Allura normally. Lance found that he could actually express things that would have sounded flirtatious just by changing his tone—like when he saw her pink paladin uniform for the first time.

He was glad to be leaving Blue in the hands of someone as capable as Allura. At least, until she tried to fly Blue the way she flew the Castle. But she learned fast, even when under pressure. Seeing Allura work as a paladin actually did more to increase Lance's involuntary respect than his resolution to consciously treat her better.


	11. Live Free or Die

_Published October 2, 2017._

 _Dedicated to the victims of the Las Vegas shooting._

Author's Note: This chapter mentions some controversial topics, but it doesn't go deep into Catholic social doctrine, because Lance doesn't strike me as someone who would give it too much thought or put it into practice. It's more about the disagreement that exists, even within the Church, and the divisive nature of such topics, and how people become afraid to talk about them.

"Live Free or Die"

* * *

Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death! ~ Patrick Henry, March 23, 1775 address to the House of Burgesses

* * *

The adventure in the other reality left everyone on the team rattled. Allura was morose, probably racked with guilt for her recent actions and anxiety for their future consequences. Keith tried to comfort her, and Coran took his place while he left to search for Shiro. Hunk turned to his usual solace, the preparation, sharing, and consumption of food. Pidge brought her computer to the kitchen so she could hang out with Hunk while processing the data she had acquired from the Altean ship and trans-reality comet.

Lance tried praying his rosary, but found he could not concentrate. Moments from their adventure in the other reality kept coming back to him, pulling him out of the rhythm of the prayers.

For one thing, the way Sven saved him was rather haunting. The only other person who had ever jumped between him and an oncoming blow had been Hunk, someone he had been friends with for a while, and that had been an accident. Sven had only just met Lance, and they had just barely cemented their alliance. But if he was really Shiro, maybe Lance should not be surprised: Shiro was the kind of person who would risk his life to save anyone on his team. Lance hoped Slav had managed to get Sven to a space hospital—they probably wouldn't have had access to, or the desire to use, Altean healing pods. Slav had said "This is the reality where everything works out fine," but he had probably meant _for them, in that situation_. There was probably no such thing as a reality where everything worked out fine for everyone.

And then, that Altean scientist's words kept echoing in his mind. _"Preservation of life is the Altean Empire's highest priority."_ The juxtaposition of words and ideals, using such a noble goal to justify horrendous means, made Lance's stomach turn over. And when he looked at his rosary, certain words—life, freedom, peace, will—brought back scattered memories of his extended family: heated arguments between teenagers, philosophical debates between adults, hushed conversations that they hoped the elders and children wouldn't hear.

The long, blank face of the non-cog, Moxilous, had been all the more eerie when the bespectacled man explained it away. _"They're not slaves because they don't have will."_ As if he could be certain he didn't still have emotions and desires of his own. That sounded like a common justification for abortion and euthanasia: _"It's not murder because they can't think or feel."_ If his cousins' information was true, that argument had no merit: babies in the womb reacted to pain, and Lance had heard stories about coma patients who, upon waking, said they had wanted to live even when they were unconscious. They had a will to live. Which meant free will and preservation of life weren't always in opposition either. Lance had always hated when people pitted different values against each other. He was pretty sure there was a phrase for that, but he couldn't think of it. Finally, he gave up on trying to pray, and decided to see how the others were doing.

When he arrived at the kitchen, Lance leaned against the doorframe while Hunk bustled around and Pidge typed at what seemed to Lance like an inhuman speed. "How's it going?" he asked casually.

"What?" Pidge queried. "Hunk's cookies, or my data analysis?"

Lance shrugged. "Either."

"The cookies are done, and don't taste too bad," Hunk said, smiling hopefully.

"I'm debating whether to try solving the anomalies of the reality vortex, or just accept it as the kind of magic that our planet's understanding of science can't explain," Pidge said. "It feels wrong to leave something alone when I don't understand it. Like an itch I can't help scratching."

Hunk slid a plate of cookies on the counter, which Lance perceived as an invitation to come over. He perched himself on a clear section of the counter and picked up a cookie, but did not take a bite right away, rotating it in his fingers instead. "I can't stop thinking about Sven and Slav and the Alteans."

"Yeah," Hunk said, wiping his hands on his apron, "I'm surprised Keith wasn't more rattled about seeing alternate Shiro."

Pidge nodded. "You know, in the back of my mind, I've been trying to figure out how Shiro could have ended up with a Scandinavian name and accent. I think the rise of the Altean Empire must have had some impact on Earth's history, which caused Shiro to be born and raised on a different continent."

"What that scientist guy said is really bothering me," Lance said "Is there a word, or a phrase, or something, for two things that you think can't exist together? Like, if you have one, you can't have the other?"

"'Mutually exclusive?'" Pidge suggested.

Lance snapped his fingers and pointed at her. "Yes! They talked about life and freedom like they were _mutually exclusive_. I hadn't heard talk like that since—" Lance suddenly broke off, as though catching himself before saying something better left unsaid.

"When have you heard talk like that?" Pidge asked.

Lance folded his arms, ducking his head as he muttered, "Never mind." Maybe this was how Keith had felt when he let it slip that Shiro had wanted him to be the leader, something that he had not wanted anyone else to know.

"Hey, I thought we agreed not to have secrets anymore?" Hunk reminded him.

"It's not a _secret_ , it's just not something I like to talk about. Or really have anything to say about. Whenever it came up, things just went badly."

"You're stalling," Pidge said. "Spill."

Lance's eyes darted to and from his friends, both wanting and not wanting to see their reactions. "Some of my family … and some of our friends back home … are really strongly pro-life."

Pidge's eyebrows went down behind her glasses lens. "Like, anti-abortion?" Lance could not tell if her tone and expression stemmed from confusion or disgust.

"Well, that, and anti-euthanasia. Some are even anti-war and anti-death penalty. A few are anti-gun too, which isn't really common for Christians. But the issue that gets the most attention is abortion. I mean, lots of Christians, especially Catholics, are against it; but some are really vocal about it—like, they go to marches and prayer meetings and pass out flyers." Lance avoided his friends' gazes, remembering the tension his family had felt whenever one of his aunts or cousins mentioned their work or offered to share resources. Eventually Lance's relatives had agreed to simply not talk about it, but that meant they could not talk about a major part of their lives, so their small talk always seemed rather empty.

Hunk's voice broke through the wave of memories. "Does that embarrass you?"

Lance looked up, and saw his friends looking at him with mild bemusement and something almost like concern. "Um … I didn't … well, I didn't know if it would bother you … some people get really riled up about it." Maybe he had been wrong to assume that his friends would judge him or his family. In his experience, broaching such controversial topics tended to bring out the worst in people.

"Lance," Pidge said gently, "I'm a scientist. I'm not that into social sciences, but I know a bit about biology and chemistry. I've read studies on pregnancy, birth control, and infant mortality."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Enough to know that abortion and the pill aren't all they're cracked up to be. Bureaucracies like the media, and even medical associations, try to cover up data that could hurt their industry. Even when they share it, people mistrust any sources that sound like they oppose their own ideology." Pidge's mouth curled in a rueful smile. "If I hadn't wanted to be an astronaut, I might've tried medical science, so I could bring that field some intellectual honesty, without any agendas getting in the way of the truth."

"Wow." If Lance had had to guess, he would have assumed Pidge was pro-choice, since most scientists gravitated toward that view. But it was like her to gather and analyze all the available information before forming an opinion.

"Do you identify as pro-life?" Hunk asked. "I mean, you don't have to answer, but I'm just curious."

"No. At least, I never have. But I don't identify as pro-choice either. I never knew what to think of it, because there were so many parts that people talked about and I didn't know enough about. When I tried to think about it, I'd get confused, and when I tried to talk about it, we'd get into arguments. So I tried not to think or talk about it."

Pidge nodded slowly. "I can understand how that would happen, but you never get anywhere that way."

"I don't know if I'd fit into a clean-cut label," Hunk said thoughtfully, "but you're right that freedom and life—or freedom and peace—shouldn't be mutually exclusive. The Guns of Gamara didn't seem to think they are. I don't think they want war or chaos, the way that scientist said they did. And neither do we. As paladins, we're safeguarding people's lives _and_ freedom. Because one isn't worth much without the other."

That was an interesting line of thought, raising all kinds of strange questions. Was freedom worth dying for? Lance's American sensibility made him want to say _yes_ , at least in the context of war and self-governance. They were risking their lives to liberate planets that had been enslaved, and save people whose lives were in danger. Hunk was right: The paladins of Voltron fought for life _and_ freedom. Both were worth protecting and preserving.

"Thanks guys," Lance said. "That actually makes me feel better." He had not felt guilty, exactly, but now the conflict inside him felt less heavy. He finally took a bite of the cookie he had been holding, and found it tasted pleasant, with a subtle sweetness.

"Anytime, buddy," Hunk said, pleased to see his food being appreciated.

"Yeah, don't be afraid to talk about this kind of thing," Pidge said. "Even if we disagree on something major, we'll still love you. And you don't have to work through things like that on your own. We can move toward the truth together."

* * *

Author's Notes:

While I'm fine with getting into controversial points of theology, I didn't want to get into controversial politics in this cycle, partly because I don't think my knowledge and values match Lance's (he clearly never learned Theology of the Body), and partly because I don't want to invite flames. But my personal research on the pro-life and pro-choice movements has made me so sensitive to the words "life" and "freedom" that the episode "Hole in the Sky" made me wonder if the writers were trying to push a certain agenda. I'm not writing this to promote any ideology, but to promote dialogue, because I see far too much closed-mindedness on issues like abortion, birth control, and gun rights/restrictions. If you want to talk about these issues, I'd be glad to share what knowledge and resources I have, though I'm still learning myself.

What do you think of this chapter intersecting the one I had previously, which is now two chapters, the ones before and after this one? Does it work in terms of flow and theme?

Disclaimer: "Live free or die" is the state motto of New Hampshire. It is not my home state, but I have been there quite often and have seen those words on many car license plates.


	12. Thanksgiving

_Published August 10, 2017._

"Thanksgiving"

* * *

The lions may grow weak and hungry, but those who seek the Lord lack no good thing. ~ Psalm 31:10

* * *

When Keith alerted everyone that he had found Shiro, completely out of the blue, a kind of chaotic rejoicing broke out among the rest of the team. Lance did the same happy dance he had done upon learning he had made it to fighter class. Then he pulled out the rosary, kissed the cross, and clutched it to his heart, breathing, "Thank you."

When Shiro came back on board, there was no delighted group hug, nor even a series of heartwarming individual hugs, as more than one individual had hoped. At Keith's insistence, everyone kept a respectful distance, except to help move Shiro onto the ship, into a healing pod, and finally to his old bedroom. As excited and overwhelmed as they were, they stayed clear-headed enough look to his desperate physical needs before acting on their emotional impulses. Still, when they could, they squeezed his hands and expressed in soft tones how glad they were to have him back.

Pidge and Hunk examined the vehicle and played the log, to spare Shiro from having to debrief them when he was so exhausted. They were all horrified to learn that Shiro had gone without food and water for a week. Hunk was the most appalled, but he quickly overcame his emotion and focused on solving the problem. Knowing that extreme hunger can lead to overindulgence, he planned out a diet to help Shiro ease back into nutritious daily meals. It may not have been necessary, since Shiro was the most disciplined person out of all of them, but it gave Hunk something to do, a way to feel helpful as they waited for Shiro to bounce back to being the leader they knew and loved.

They took turns watching over Shiro while he recuperated. He was awake but still in bed when Lance came in for his shift.

"Hey man," Lance said softly. "You don't have to talk, I'm just here to make sure you're okay. I mean, _I_ know you're okay, but Keith and Allura want someone with you." He sat down on the bench opposite the bed, where he proceeded to fidget. At least some things had not changed, Lance's hyperactivity being one of them.

After a moment Lance pulled something out of his pocket. "Will it bother you if I do my rosary? Aloud, I mean? It's easier than saying it in my head."

Shiro wet his tongue and found the strength to answer, "Sure."

Lance fingered the necklace, then looked back up at Shiro. "I prayed this for you, after you disappeared. I asked God, and I asked the saints to ask God, to let you get back safely. It was the first time I had a really specific intention for a really long period. So, now I'm praying it as a thanksgiving."

Shiro turned his head sideways to look at Lance. The teenage Catholic looked embarrassed, as he usually did when talking about the more personal aspects of religion. "I'm glad," Shiro said. Lance looked slightly surprised at this response. Shiro tried to support his words with a smile, but could not quite succeed. He turned to look back at the ceiling, remembering. "I tried praying. I had nothing to do except steer the ship and record a log. I could have recorded more, talked about my experiences, but I didn't want to make myself more thirsty, or give pertinent information to the wrong people if my ship was captured." He closed his eyes. "When I thought I was going to die, I thought of all you guys, and the Black Lion … everything I wanted to live for … I thought I had to come to terms with it, just hope that you'd do well enough without me. When Keith came with the Black Lion …"

Lance chuckled, or tried to. "Talk about 'god in a machine.' Y'know, I've wondered whether the lions' power has something to do with God."

"Maybe." Shiro opened his eyes to look at his friend again. "Thank you, Lance."

"Don't thank me. Thank God, and Mary and the rest of the saints who prayed for you."

"Well, you started it by asking for their—what do you call it?"

"Intercession."

"Yeah, that. So I should thank you as well as them."

"You're welcome. I'll pass your thanks on to them."

Lance began each decade with an introduction in English, naming a Glorious Mystery. The Latin prayers had a soothing, repetitive rhythm that almost lulled Shiro to sleep, but these English names caught his attention. The events included Jesus' Resurrection, Jesus' Ascension into Heaven, the Descent of the Holy Spirit, and Mary's Assumption into Heaven. It was all very transcendent, and appropriate for the events for which Lance was giving thanks.

"Pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death."

Shiro had thought that he had arrived at the hour of his death, but something had happened—maybe Mary really had prayed for him at that hour—and enabled the Black Lion to locate him. Maybe it had been that surge of love for his team, stronger than his own desire for life and comfort. Whatever it was, they were grateful for it.

Now that God had kept His part of the bargain, Lance knew he would have to keep his end. And even not factoring in his promise to forego glory and put aside pride, the fact remained that they had one paladin too many. Someone would have to step aside—Shiro, Keith, Allura, or Lance. And Lance was pretty sure he was the least skilled among them. The other three were the team's leaders; everyone looked to them for direction and inspiration. Lance was just a support—either the leg providing sure footing to the body, or the right hand carrying out the head's instructions.

When he expressed these doubts, Keith did not say he was a vital part of the team, but he did not dismiss him as an unnecessary part either. He was not going to make a decision, believing that things would work themselves out. Lance supposed he was right, since the matter of pilots was really left to the lions. Even when they put practicality before personal preference, there were forces at work that knew better than them. If the lions were agents of God's will, as Lance increasingly supposed them to be, then the team had to follow their lead.

* * *

 **Author's Note:** I loved Lance's character development in this all-too-short season, and I'm super pleased that it fits this story! I came up with this chapter quite spontaneously. Also, since apparently Pidge's heritage has been revealed as Italian, increasing the possibility that the Holts have a Catholic background, I'm wondering if I ought to rework parts of "The Pursuit of Truth" to account for this influence on their culture and worldview. A scientist as smart famous as Sam Holt could probably have connections with the Vatican Observatory. What do you think, readers?


	13. Reason and Revelation

_Published May 25, 2019_

"Reason and Revelation"

* * *

The Catholic faith is like a lion in a cage. You don't need to defend it – you simply need to open the cage door. ~ Venerable Fulton Sheen

* * *

Lance's earliest memories of the Galaxy Garrison were of the annual Gold Mass that Veronica convinced their family to attend every year.

"Why is it called a gold Mass?" Lance asked the first time. He pictured the priests wearing gold vestments and the walls decorated with gold banners, the same way other colors indicated the liturgical seasons and holidays.

Veronica explained, "There are special Masses held for people with different kinds of jobs. A Red Mass is for lawyers—they called it that because lawyers in medieval Europe wore red robes. A Blue Mass is for first responders, like police, a White Mass is for medical professionals, and a Gold Mass is for scientists."

It seemed like an ordinary Mass to Lance, but as he got older and learned to pay better attention, he noticed that the Garrison's Catholic chaplain always talked about the great scientific discoveries that priests and religious had made throughout the Church's history.

"Catholicism is largely about the relationship between the physical and the spiritual," the chaplain said one year, when Lance was about ten. "Think of the Mass: you see the decorations, smell the incense, hear the music and liturgy, touch and taste the Eucharist. We know how to use our physical senses. That's why Catholics make great scientists, writers, and filmmakers."

Growing up with this sense that religion and science could go hand in hand, Lance was startled when he first ran into people who said that they did not believe in religion because they believed in science. The first was a boy in his Sunday School class. The second was a girl in his public school (his parents could not afford to send all five of their children to parochial schools).

Lance usually took his questions to Veronica, since she worked so closely with scientists.

"Were there dinosaurs in the Garden of Eden? How could they have lived millions of years before people existed, when the Bible says God made Adam just a week after he made the world?"

Veronica leaned back in her swivel chair. "I'm no theologian, but I think the Genesis story—along with certain other stories in the Bible—can be considered allegorical."

"What's that mean?" Lance asked.

"It means that it's symbolic, not literal. Was there really a talking snake? Probably not. But did people rebel against God? Yes. That's the core truth that we're supposed to get from the story: God made the world, the world was good, and human beings ruined that goodness by trying to be like God."

Lance was not sure he agreed with this outlook. When it came to literature, he was never good with inferences and implications.

Thankfully, when he got into arguments about whether one could believe in both religion and science, he knew where to find evidence. He could not remember all the facts, but he kept a running list and consulted it when necessary.

 _~ Bishop Robert Grosseteste, 13_ _th_ _century Bishop of Lincoln, chancellor of Oxford University, helped develop scientific method_

 _~ Pope Leo XIII founded Vatican Observatory, still operational_

 _~ Copernicus was a priest_

 _~ Gregor Mendel was a monk_

 _~ Buzz Aldrin read the Bible and took communion on the moon_

Over the years he added many examples from the Galaxy Garrison chaplain's homilies.

Veronica sent her family postcards when she spent a summer studying at the Vatican Observatory, where she met some of the greatest astronomers and physicists, most of whom were priests or monks.

 _I hope you all can come here someday,_ she wrote. _I've never felt closer to God than while I've been here._

Lance wondered what that felt like, and whether he would ever feel that way.

* * *

Author's Note: It's been a long time since I updated this story. There have been a few reasons for this: I started a new job; I got involved in other writing projects; and events inside and concerning the Catholic Church made me think people might not want to read a pro-Catholic story. But I remembered the wonderful responses this story got, and I still have some scenes and ideas I want to explore for this short story cycle, so I'm going to try to continue it.

Fun fact relating to this chapter's topic: A few months ago I had the honor and privilege of hearing a lecture from Brother Guy Consolmagno, director of the Vatican Observatory. His name is Italian but he is actually from the Untied States, and he spoke extremely well about the relationship between science and religion, and why it is important for religious people to study and promote the sciences and liberal arts as well as charitable work.


End file.
